


gently, like the tide

by Snickfic



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Sex, Stuffing, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: In which Steve eats a lot of pasta salad, gets a bunch of feelings, gets his brain sucked out his dick, and has a pretty great day, honestly.





	gently, like the tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



> lol I did not set out to write a fic specifically about nice things happening to Steve, and yet here we are. I saw that you liked stuffing and that's what inspired this fic, even though a lot of other things ended up in it, too, like way more feelings than I was planning on. I hope you enjoy. <3

Nancy’s not angry-drunk or sad-drunk this time, just drunk enough to put an extra flush in her cheeks, a new sparkle in her eyes. She’s cute as hell, which is no surprise to Steve. She’s been cute as hell since he first set eyes on her, freshman year. 

Jonathan, now. Jonathan’s lounging on the sofa, an arm around Nancy and a beer in his other hand, though it’s his first and only half-empty. There’s a story there, something to do with his dad. But the point isn’t whatever family thing he’s fucked up about; the point is he’s got good hands and a good jaw and—and he has nice eyes. Tonight they’re friendly and warm. Steve likes Jonathan’s eyes, not that he’s said that out loud yet. One of these days, maybe, he’ll manage it.

For now he pokes on Jonathan’s socked foot with his toe. “You gonna finish that?” he asks, pointing his chin towards the remaining pasta salad. Nancy made it herself and brought it over to Steve’s place—his parents are out of town again—and it’s pretty good, actually. An hour ago, Nancy hit Steve in the shoulder for saying so. 

“I’m good,” Jonathan says. “You want it?”

Nancy’s looking at Steve with great big eyes, like he can make her night or break it with a word. Nancy with a few beers in her is a drama queen even at the very best of times, Steve’s learned. “You bet I am,” he says, and grabs the whole bowl.

Nancy’s telling a story about Mike’s board game group. “‘Some mage’?” Jonathan repeats, eyes twinkling. 

Steve opens his big fat mouth—which happens to be full of pasta salad—and says, “She means Merlin. You know, like King Arthur.” Then he realizes what he said, because they’re both staring at him. “Dustin told me,” he mumbles.

“You sure you don’t want to go play wizards with the kids instead of hanging out with us?” Jonathan asks.

“Yeah, maybe we’re too old and boring for you,” Nancy says.

“Both of you just shut up,” Steve says, hiding behind his Tupperware bowl. 

Nancy leans along the couch to give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be a grumpy pants,” she says.

“God, I hope not,” Steve says. “I was definitely hoping for happy pants tonight.”

Nancy wrinkles her nose, like she’s deciding a) whether he’s making a dirty joke and b) how she feels about it if he is. But after a moment, she clearly dismisses the whole thing and cuddles into his side. Sober Nancy is still a fucking mystery sometimes, but drunk Nancy is about the most transparent person Steve has ever met in his life. Every single thought she has is written on her face.

“I’m glad you like it,” Nancy says, poking at the side of the bowl. Solemnly she considers a glob of mayo stuck to the rim.

Steve’s first instinct is something dumb and sarcastic. He swallows it back and reaches with his free hand to stroke Nancy’s hair, mostly fallen out of her ponytail. “I like everything about it,” he says. 

She turns to smile up at him, a knowing gleam in her eye that could be mistaken for sobriety. “Me, too,” she says. She squeezes his knee. Then she groans, deepy, all the way from her belly. “Shit, I have to pee.”

“You should go do that,” Jonathan says.

“Ugh.” She crawls off of Steve and the couch and stumbles down the hall. 

“And drink some water,” Steve calls after her. She flips him off over her shoulder, which delights him way more than it should. Who’d have thought Nancy Wheeler had it in her? 

When Steve unkinks his neck, he finds Jonathan looking at him, smiling softly. “What?” Steve demands.

Jonathan shakes his head. He prods Steve in the foot. A familiar flush rises up his neck and along his ears, and Steve watches it with a kind of wonder. Jonathan made the first move two months ago, but he still turns so red every time he so much as thinks about Steve’s dick. Or Steve’s lips, or possibly some other parts of Steve that Jonathan hasn’t admitted to noticing yet. 

Obligingly Steve sprawls a little wider so Jonathan can survey the goods. 

“Oh my god,” Jonathan says, too breathless for the complaint to carry any kind of weight.

“Yeah?” Steve says. He means it to be a challenge but he can’t quite manage it. His breath is a little short, too. “Come over here and make me,” he says, which makes no sense. 

Jonathan scoots down the couch. It’s not exactly a sexy motion. But then he frames Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him, and Steve’s revved all the way up with the first touch of Jonathan’s chapped lips on his mouth. Steve drops the pasta salad over the side of the couch, just barely listening to make sure it lands right side up, and then he gets his hands on Jonathan like he wants to. All over Jonathan: his broad shoulders and his belly that’s a little soft because he hates everything sports-related, and on his dick, of course. Steve gives Jonathan a squeeze through his jeans, and Jonathan gasps.

There’s a sound from the doorway. Steve looks up, and Nancy’s there, staring, her mouth fallen open. 

“Hey,” Steve says. 

“Hey,” Nancy says.

There’s a sick little squirm in Steve’s gut that says this is wrong. Kissing a guy, putting your hand on his dick, doing it while you’re girlfriend’s watching: take your pick. It’s all gotta be wrong. But Nancy walks slowly forward, like she’s under one of the magic spells Dustin’s always yammering about, and when she brushes Steve’s hair back, it doesn’t _feel_ wrong. It feels really fucking right, honestly.

Then she kisses him, and that feels even better. She pulls back pretty soon, though. “Don’t let me distract you guys,” she says.

Steve doesn’t really have a chance to process that before Jonathan crawls a little farther on top of him. The crotch of his jeans rubs along Steve’s, and electrical sparks fly all up and down Steve’s dick. His pants are too tight all of a sudden. “Fucking get off,” he says, pushing at Jonathan’s chest.

“I’m trying,” Jonathan says, grinning like he is the the cleverest asshole alive as he climbs off of Steve. He’s so tickled with himself that all Steve can do is laugh as he unzips his jeans and tries to squirm out of them without actually getting off the couch. Jonathan’s are already on the floor. Never was Steve so grateful for all his dad’s business trips as he has been the past two months. 

Then Jonathan palms Steve through his briefs, and Steve forgets all about getting his pants the rest of the way off his legs. “Oh hey,” Jonathan says, looking down. “Wow, look at this, Nancy.”

Nancy peers down at Steve. “Hmm.”

“Oh my god, you dicks,” Steve says. His girlfriend and his—and Jonathan are _assholes_. “Are you gonna do something, or—”

Nancy bends down and kisses him—a little bit sharp, with teeth. It’s her _be quiet and let the man work_ kiss. She has so many kisses Steve never dreamed of when it was just the two of them. Meanwhile Jonathan’s sliding Steve’s briefs down. There’s a draft blowing over Steve’s dick, but just as he’s ready to complain, Jonathan puts his mouth on Steve.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Jonathan was—not great at this, when they started. There was an incident involving teeth that had Steve swearing off blow jobs for life. But Nancy cured him of that notion, and Jonathan kept practicing, and that brought Steve to where he was today, which is to say: getting his brain sucked out his dick one dribble of thought at a time.

Nancy’s kissing him again. It’s almost too much—her at his mouth and Jonathan at his dick. He doesn’t last much longer.

Afterwards, he watches, eyes only half-open, as Nancy strips down to her t-shirt and panties. Then she carefully settles into Jonathan’s lap and grinds down onto him. When it was just her and Steve, he never saw her do anything like that, either. She laces her fingers behind Jonathan’s head, and she looks so damn hot, so _right_ that Steve kind of wants to cry. He’s going to blame it on the blowjob. And then, like she knows, Nancy turns and looks his straight in the eye, over her shoulder. Steve stretches out and strokes his toes along her thigh, and she gives him a sweet, sweet smile and then turns back to the job at hand.

Jonathan comes in his boxers not long after. He makes noises about cleaning himself off, but what actually happens is his shucks his boxers off and drops them on the floor. Steve’ll be donating another pair of briefs in a while. He doesn’t mind. 

He really doesn’t mind. Like at all. Seeing Jonathan Byers’ ass in Steve’s underwear is, uh. It’s pretty great.

Steve stands up just long enough to finally get his pants all the way off. Nancy tugs at him, and he settles against her until until he’s leaning on her like she’s leaning on Jonathan. Steve drags a blanket along with him and drapes it over them all.

They doze for a while, until Nancy gets too warm and wriggles out from the pile. Her eyes look clearer when she walks back into the living room. She hands Steve and Jonathan each a glass of water and perches on the edge of the couch, staring over the edge with a degree of concentration Steve is definitely not capable of currently. Although—she didn’t really get off yet. Shit. He’s a terrible boyfriend, he and Jonathan both. “You’re terrible,” he tells Jonathan. Jonathan’s laugh is a warm, gentle quake underneath Steve.

Nancy leans down and lifts the forgotten bowl of pasta salad to her lap. “Oh hey, I was going to finish that,” Steve says, reaching for it.

“There’s a lot in there,” Nancy says. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m going to finish it,” he tells her.

Time and hydration has cleared Steve’s head a little. He’s kind of leaning back against Jonathan now, one of Jonathan’s arms stretched beside Steve along the back of the sofa. As Steve stuffs his face, he’s warm and relaxed and at peace, from his throat all the way down to his toes. 

Nancy turns the TV on. It’s some classic movie, black and white. Jonathan makes approving noises, of course, because he’s a fucking nerd. Steve’s—

Steve’s boyfriend is a nerd.

Steve lets that thought roll around in his head a little while, as he chews on salami and multi-colored rotini. Steve’s _boyfriend_.

“You okay, champ?” Jonathan says.

Steve shakes himself out of the hundred-yard stare he’d fallen into. “Yeah, yeah. Just—” _Just thinking_ , he was going to say, but Jonathan would tease him if he did. _Did it hurt?_. So Steve doesn’t say it, he just jams another forkful of salad in his mouth. “ ‘m fine,” he says.

There’s more salad than he remembered. It’s still chilled, even though it’s been sitting out for like two hours now; he’s pretty impressed. It’s good stuff except for the olives. He pushes them aside until Jonathan notices and starts sneaking them out of the bowl.

The movie is Zorro, it turns out—not the color TV show Steve’s seen reruns of a couple times, but something way older. There’s still a lot of sword fighting, though, and the constant suspense that maybe _this_ time someone will figure out that the guy in the mask, is in fact, Diego de la Vega. The bad guy has just noticed incriminating mud on Diego’s boots when Nancy says, “Oh, you’re almost finished.”

She’s kneeling by the couch, peering into the Tupperware bowl resting in Steve’s lap. There’s not much left—or at least, it doesn’t look like much, in the bottom of the big bowl. Actually it’d probably be like two normal-person servings. Steve’s eaten about as much as he wants to, though. He got caught up in the movie and wasn’t paying attention to how much he was eating, but he’s really full now. Before the pasta salad there was pizza from Pizza Hut and an actual green salad with vegetables that Joyce had sent along with Jonathan for their “study party.” And a couple of beers. “Think I’m done,” Steve says.

“Are you sure?” Nancy says. She’s giving the bowl a hard look.

“I’m pretty full, Nance. Sorry. There was more in there than I thought.”

“Aw, poor Steve,” she says. She presses her palm against his stomach. Her eyes widen. “Wow.” 

“I told you,” Steve grumbles.

Nancy hums and strokes his stomach. It’s hitting him now, just how full he is. His whole stomach feels tight, right up to his ribs, and he’s really glad he’s not wearing jeans anymore—he’d probably have to undo the button. He feels a little breathless and a little embarrassed. “You don’t have to—”

Nancy gives him a look he can’t read and begins to rub his stomach in earnest with tight, careful circles. After the first flush of embarrassment, it starts to feel kind of good. Without meaning to, he lets a quiet groan escape. Nancy pauses instantly. “No, no,” he says. “It feels good.”

“Yeah?” she says, with another of those indecipherable looks. 

“Yeah.”

Jonathan reaches around and begins rubbing Steve’s stomach, too. He’s more about the massage, where Nancy’s more about the circular motion. Slowly, everything in Steve’s stomach seems to settle. With Jonathan and Nancy’s hands on him, the internal pressure recedes until he just feels big and heavy and sleepy. He kind of wants to sit up and get a look at himself, because surely it’s visible, how much he ate, but it sounds like too much work.

“Naptime?” Nancy asks.

“Sounds great,” Steve says. He lets his head fall back against Jonathan’s collarbone. Nancy leans in next to him, carefully avoiding putting any weight on his stomach, although her hand is still there, rubbing gently.

As Steve drifts towards unconsciousness, Jonathan shifts underneath him. The last thing Steve remembers is a kiss being pressed to his ear.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Nancy totally refilled the pasta salad bowl, and no, she didn't get off in this fic, but rest assured there she's going to be doing much more exploration of how much she can coax Steve to eat, and she is going to enjoy the results A Lot.


End file.
